


Five times Grantaire could not stand sleeping in the vicinity of Enjolras, and one time he didn't mind at all

by honeypuffed



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:10:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeypuffed/pseuds/honeypuffed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, Enjolras is a giant pain in the ass when he sleeps, and Grantaire always has the misfortune of sharing with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five times Grantaire could not stand sleeping in the vicinity of Enjolras, and one time he didn't mind at all

**Author's Note:**

> Written very vaguely for [this](http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/13024.html?thread=6458848#t6458848) prompt at the meme.

one.

The first time Grantaire shares a bed with Enjolras is long before they're even really acquainted. Courfeyrac, a mutual friend, is hosting a ridiculous 80s-themed house party, and Grantaire decides to wear red pumps and bright blue eye makeup, which most of the guests find hilarious -- though not this friend of a friend, Enjolras, of course.

And Grantaire's luck, being as lacking as it is, means that even though Grantaire claims the spare room as his own, Enjolras waltzes in and tells him, "You can stay or you can leave, I'm not going anywhere."

Because Grantaire isn't particularly feeling a night on the floor, and also perhaps a tiny bit because this boy in front of him manages to look like a Greek god in spite of his awful MC Hammer pants, Grantaire just grunts and makes space in the bed for him.

Big mistake. Enjolras is, apparently, an octopus.

Grantaire wakes through the night (something that never happens after so much drinking) to a dead weight across his face and thighs. He grimaces, peeling the arm away from his face first so he can glare over at Enjolras, but he's so incredibly dead to the world, it's a waste of energy. Grantaire looks down and considers trying to lift Enjolras' offending leg away from his lap, but as he's thinking on it, Enjolras turns in his sleep until he's completely tucked into Grantaire's side, then flops his arm over Grantaire's chest.

"Eek," says Grantaire and madly rolls away, nearly off the edge of the bed.

The space he leaves himself outside of Enjolras' reach is so small and pitiful, for a second he wonders if he might not be better off on the floor after all. But he's too tired to move, so he falls asleep, precariously curled up on the edge of the mattress.

Nowhere is outside of Enjolras' reach, Grantaire discovers early the next morning, when he wakes to Enjolras all but lying on top of him and Courfeyrac bloody _guffawing_ in the doorway.

***

two.

He's met Enjolras a few times now. He wouldn't call them friends, as much as he'd like them to be. He doesn't really help the relationship, truth be told, arguing over every tiny little point Enjolras brings up. But dear god if Enjolras isn't a creature of the most exquisite and unnatural beauty.

Until he's asleep, that is. Then he's a monster.

The second time is because Courfeyrac suggests it after the next gathering at his house. "Because that worked so well last time," Courfeyrac grins, and Grantaire searches earnestly for something to throw at his head, downtrodden when he comes up unsuccessful.

That night, Enjolras is asleep in seconds. Grantaire takes a moment to admire him as he drifts off, as his breathing evens out, as the creases soften from his brow. As Grantaire shifts to get comfortable and lie down properly, Enjolras' arm flicks out and a fist catches Grantaire's eye.

He clamps a hand over his face and bites his bottom lip to stop himself from swearing colourfully at Enjolras.

In the morning, Grantaire is sitting on the kitchen counter, nursing the beginnings of a black eye, and Enjolras just says distantly, "Put some ice on it." Helpful, only he's obviously already done that by now.

"Thanks," Grantaire says, sarcasm oozing from his pores, but Enjolras doesn't even recognise it, just goes,

"You're welcome."

***

three.

The third time he sleeps with Enjolras (not like _that_ , though Grantaire would-- never mind) is on a camping trip organised by Jehan, who has apparently become good friends with Enjolras since Courfeyrac's party all those months ago when they first met. In fact, most of Grantaire's friends seem to have befriended him now -- but they don't know the _truth_ , Grantaire thinks.

So anyway, the camping trip. Jehan's idea, so Jehan organises everyone into tents like a good camp leader (like they're five years old). Grantaire is sure Jehan's been convinced by Courfeyrac to have him share with Enjolras, because the smile that passes between Jehan and Courfeyrac when tents are announced is far too devious to mean anything else.

Combeferre is also in their tent, so Grantaire figures he's safe if he can just get Combeferre to sleep in the middle. He's diplomatic; Grantaire's sure he'll agree.

Of course Grantaire forgets to ask and then spends way too many hours singing drunkenly around the campfire, and when he gets to the tent, Combeferre is already asleep on the side. Grantaire's shoulders slump, and he crawls in and gets comfy on the other side.

Grantaire knows exactly what time Enjolras comes back to the tent, because his arrival brings with it a kick to the shin. Grantaire snaps awake, starts to shout, "Fu--" and then Enjoras' hand is over his mouth.

"Shh, Combeferre's asleep," Enjolras whispers.

Enjolras pulls his hand away and Grantaire angrily whispers back, " _So was I_."

Enjolras grins and looks approximately 2% apologetic when he says sorry.

"Right," Grantaire mumbles and turns away to face the side of the tent.

The grin on Enjolras' face lingers in his mind though, and Grantaire tries counting sheep to distract himself. When that doesn't help, he curls up into a ball in the corner and shoves his pillow over his head.

When he wakes in the morning, the corner he's in is quite literally the only space left, because Enjolras is spread out like a god damn starfish. Combeferre is sitting on the other side of the tent, knees pulled up to his chest. He looks at Grantaire in despair, and Grantaire just mouths, "I told you."

***

four.

Time number four, and not even being hopelessly, utterly plastered can help him get to sleep, knowing Enjolras is barely a metre away, passed out on Combeferre's living room floor. Grantaire's definitely had too much tonight, because all he can think of is rolling over to close the gap between them so he can snuggle up to Enjolras and, _fuck_ he needs to stop. He squeezes his eyes shut so he can't keep staring at Enjolras' form, so at ease, so vulnerable, arm resting over his face and shirt rucked up over his stomach.

Grantaire stops being unavoidably turned on when Enjolras maneuvers across the tiles to kick Grantaire in the back and keep his foot pressed there the rest of the night. Grantaire gives up, seriously.

***

five.

Enjolras is standing at Grantaire's door, eye black and nose bleeding everywhere, as much as he's trying to stop it, head tilted back and hands covering his face. His knuckles are red and cut up.

"Was this one of your peaceful protests?" Grantaire asks, meaning to sound pissed, but he can't keep the concern out of his voice.

Enjolras just whimpers in response as Grantaire directs him to the bathroom. Grantaire wets a hand towel and gives it to Enjolras who accepts it gratefully, holding it to his nose.

"Sorry," he says through the cloth. "Your place was closest."

Grantaire just sighs. "I'll grab you a shirt," he tells him, because the one Enjolras has on has blood all down the front of it.

"Thanks."

Grantaire brings back a clean shirt and also an ice pack, and by then, Enjolras is standing shirtless in front of the mirror, admiring his awful face. Grantaire stands there stupidly, admiring Enjolras.

Enjolras reaches out a hand and Grantaire shoves the ice pack into it. "For your eye."

"Thanks." Enjolras wipes what he can of the dried blood from his face, then holds up the ice pack. "I think it's stopped bleeding for now." His tongue flicks out over his bottom lip. "Split my lip though."

"Mm," Grantaire replies, barely audible.

Enjolras turns to Grantaire and takes the shirt from his hands. "Thank you." He doesn't put it on yet though, just sits on the edge of the tub, holding it. "You can leave me now," Enjolras says slowly when Grantaire continues to stand there staring. "Just go to bed; I'll let myself out."

"Yeah," Grantaire says, snapping out of his daze. "Right. Good."

He goes to bed as told, but Enjolras never lets himself out. Instead, he plods tiredly into Grantaire's bedroom about half an hour later, wearing the shirt now, thank god, but looking positively dreadful.

Grantaire props himself up in bed a bit.

"Would you mind terribly?" Enjolras asks, genuinely apologetic.

Grantaire doesn't answer, just shifts over and lets Enjolras scramble in next to him.

"I promise to keep my limbs to myself as best I can," Enjolras tells him as he pulls the covers up.

Grantaire finds himself laughing then, and a bright smile breaks out across Enjolras' face as well. It's the closest they've come to feeling like friends since they met and Grantaire's heart swells.

He wakes halfway through the night and all the sheets are gone. It's fine, it's okay, he can deal with that. It's not cold, and Enjolras is decidedly more in need anyway.

He wakes up again in the early hours of the morning as he hits the ground. It's the final straw, and he gets up and retreats to the couch.

When Enjolras shuffles out of Grantaire's bedroom in the morning to find Grantaire on the couch, he at least has the decency to look sheepish. "That bad?"

Grantaire groans at him. "I ended up on the floor, you asshole."

Enjolras bursts out laughing and grabs his ribs in pain.

"I swear," Grantaire goes on, "If I lived with you, we would have separate bloody rooms."

Enjolras stops laughing. "Huh. Of course we would though -- why would we share?" He blinks.

Grantaire realises what he's said and flushes crimson, turning over to hide his face in the couch. "Shut up."

***

+one.

"If you're here to crash again," Grantaire is saying as he opens the door, "then no. I'm putting my foot down. You are never sleeping within a ten-mile radius of me again."

"Really?" Enjolras asks, taking a step forward.

Grantaire frowns. "Really."

Enjolras looks at him. " _Really?_ " He takes another step forward, over the threshold, bringing him unbearably close to Grantaire.

Grantaire's heart speeds up. "What are you doing?"

"What?" Enjolras asks, teasing, and takes a further step so their noses are just touching.

Grantaire's heart catches and he doesn't dare speak. Eventually the moment stretches on so long that he can't stand it anymore for fear of his heart exploding, so he makes to step back, but Enjolras grabs his arm and kisses him.

Right, sure.

What?

Grantaire pulls back and gapes at Enjolras. "What are you doing?" he asks around the lump in his throat.

Enjolras says, matter-of-factly, "Staying the night."

Grantaire squeaks and Enjolras just kisses him again.

Later, Grantaire discovers the way to not get beaten to a pulp in his sleep is to lie all over Enjolras instead.

"Get off me," Enjolras complains weakly, and Grantaire just smiles, "Never," and wraps himself tighter around him.


End file.
